


Black and Blue and Just For You

by Commander_Freddy



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 20:15:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1136907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Commander_Freddy/pseuds/Commander_Freddy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>High ranking squire and future knight Jean Kirschtein runs into trouble when his confidence gets the better of him. </p><p>Good thing Marco worries too much.</p><p>(originally posted on the snk kink meme)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black and Blue and Just For You

All through the triple-tiered stronghold of the world - the Citadel - there were none more respected than the knights. They kept the citizens safe from the numerous and bizarre monsters that stalked the outside world, regulated the encroaching evil of magic, and the best of the best served as elite bodyguards to the king himself. Every child grew up dreaming of becoming a knight, every adult watched the processions with equal parts respect and jealousy. It was the ultimate goal, but the years of training and hardship managed to turn many off from trying. But there were always those who cared nothing for the difficulties, and hungered only for the glory.  
  
Jean Kirschtein was one such hopeful - a man intent on achieving his dreams of heroism. And boy was he close. His final year of training was more than halfway complete and his skills were often complimented by the higher-ups. To all observers, he was destined for nothing but the best, a position close to the king, armour that gleamed as bright as his reputation, and the adoration of all the Citadel's people. There was no doubt of Jean's prowess in anybody's mind, least of all his own.  
  
Really, the only area Jean wasn't said to succeed instantly in was a much more social concern and he felt confident no one important would really care. Really, it was nothing more than a lack of participation in an odd custom of the knights in training. It was just a little thing they did - it had absolutely no consequence whatsoever. They simply dated each other from time to time, that's all, and it was somewhat of a custom (some, more successful, squires called it a rule) that you lose your virginity to someone of your training squad. And the fact that Jean had not simply didn't matter. Not to anyone. It wouldn't affect his future prospects or fame in the slightest, so why should anyone care? Jean certainly didn't. Caring about something as trivial as that was surely a mark of being immature, instead of it being the great right of passage some of the other squires made it out to be, right? Besides, Jean had too many other redeeming qualities to worry about that, anyway.  
  
Second last day of the week, barely anyone bothered to put effort into their training - tomorrow was a day off after all, and they needed their energy for the inevitable wild night in the city that this heralded. Jean followed the others in this way, he'd already proven his skills, why would he need to showcase them when no one really expected him to? Just like everyone else, he was busy looking forward to his night.  
  
Some squires preferred to go off as groups into inns and the night markets, chatting and being companionable in a very generic kind of comfort. Some of the older boys liked to sneak off to the red-lantern district and seek out the ladies of the night. Others still liked to go window-shopping for fine armour and swords, fantasising about the incredible gear they'd tote around once they finally made a name for themselves. Jean, on the other hand, liked to get a kickstart on his future. Not the way some squires did, seeking out private tutoring from established knights (none of whom seemed to be actually competent to Jean), but by building his reputation.  
  
When their overseer finally consented to let them go, Jean stashed away his practice sword and armour faster than anyone else in the squad, such was his eagerness. He was almost at the training yard gates when he heard a cheerful  
"Hey Jean!" from behind him.  
"Oh hey Marco," said Jean, expertly mixing nonchalance with friendliness in his tone to show Marco that he was cool and important, but not disinterested.  
"Any plans for tonight?" asked the other squire, falling into step with Jean.  
"Same as usual. I'm heading to an inn down by the forest gate this time."  
  
Marco's seemingly omnipresent and sweet smile faltered slightly, concern blossoming on his face instead.  
"Be careful, Jean," he said. "You get all kinds of ruffians in the outer districts, especially by the forest gate."  
"Oh come on," said Jean. "You know I'm more than a match for a few thugs from the wilderness." He flashed one of his favoured confident smirks, and Marco laughed.  
"Alright, _Sir Jean_ , I know you'll be fine. Have a good night!"  
  
And then he was gone, caught up in a whirl of friendly faces and greetings before Jean even had the chance to say goodbye properly, leaving him standing in a small haze of cheery afterglow from their short discourse. Marco always had that effect, always brightened the room and lifted everyone's spirits. If Jean had been the sort of type to worry about social obligations, he probably would have picked Marco.  
  
The consideration had been nothing more than a thought experiment, Jean reminded himself as he began the walk to the forest gate. The typical little _if then who_ sort of wonderings, ideas that were only ruminated on when he was bored. Besides, Marco had probably been everyone's first choice, he was just that sort of a person. The whole walk to the outer districts of the city, Jean reminded himself of this rationale, and how it was purely a logical train of thought, the sort of opinion any smart person would develop.  
  
Marco had been right about the increased density of ruffians near the forest gate, though, Jean could see them and the signs of ambiguous crime everywhere. It was usually only out in the small towns of the Citadel and out in the mysterious wilds beyond the walls that you heard of serious crime, but every city had it secrets. Even the plush comforts of the inner Citadel were not safe, it seemed, literally rough around the edges for all to see even if it was rarely spoken of. But Jean was not shaken. He was the Citadel's best squire, and one day soon he'd be their best knight too.  
  
Inns were not difficult to locate in these parts of town, they attracted people like dragons to well-populated areas and were usually both the noisiest and brightest buildings in the area. It was a surprisingly well-maintained and large establishment named the Dancing Mop that Jean decided to spend the night in, and to his luck found a group of men already swapping tales of knights by the hearth.  
  
They were tossing out the usual favourites, Humanity's Finest and comparing number of monster kills, assessing ranks and equipment. They were clearly connoisseurs of the combative arts, as much as nine drunk men in a rough part of town could be.  
  
"Four minutes to take down a wyvern!" one of them was ranting, giving Jean a perfect way to slip into the conversation.  
  
"I could beat that," he announced, successfully drawing attention from all around the room. "And I have, too, in a training exercise. Sure it wasn't a real wyvern, but there were five of them, and that's gotta count for something."  
  
The men by the hearth all stared at him, until one of them had the presence of mind to ask "Who are you, then?"  
  
"Squire Jean Kirschtein, best trainee in the Citadel and future saviour of the world," he announced with a grin.  
  
Several of the men grumbled or laughed, and Jean quickly leapt to his own defence.  
  
"I know you've heard plenty of squires telling you that they'll be the top dog in a few years, but hear me out because I actually will. This is no baseless claim, I truly am the best in my squad and the best in the city's training yards - I've beaten records from the other side of the Citadel and defeated every single one of my classmates in combat. I've gone up against established knights and won. I'm gonna be the top knight of the Citadel soon, and you'd best remember that."  
  
In the usual sort of tavern Jean visited on nights like these, the patrons would at this point humour him, ask his name, pretend to remember it and a few of them would be convinced of his claims. But these men were different. From their clothing Jean could tell they had all been deep within the Citadel's forests at some point, and many of them bore the cheap swords and unmarked shields of unknighted freelancers and warriors.  
  
One of them rose, quaking with liquor, from his seat and stared at Jean. "You're top shit now," he announced, "but in a few years you'll be back here, nothin' but dirt on your back and dust in y'purse. Sword chipped and ravin' 'bout y'glory days, forced to make a livin' as a bully an' a sword-fer-sale just like the rest o' us. A knight's life ain't all sunshine and statues, y'jumped up piece of crap - one wrong move and yer kicked out of the force, livin' on the road servin' whoever gives a meal an' a place t'sleep. Yer not the future o' humanity, yer just another failure livin' seconds before the hammer falls."  
  
Jean' responded with a hearty and scornful laugh. "Just because the lot of you couldn't handle being a knight doesn't mean I'll end up with your pathetic life, too. You failed, I'm going to succeed. It's as simple as that. Don't use your own failures as proof of my future."  
  
"You think it's just us?" barked another man from by the fire. "The world is crawling with the future saviours of humanity, squires who had it made and then got thrown to the bottom of the heap. We were all you, and one day you're going to be us."  
  
"I don't think you understand the situation," said Jean. "I am not going to be a knights' reject - _I am actually competent_."  
  
For men who'd spent the evening drowning in cheap beer, the thugs by the fire moved with surprising speed. One of them had a huge, disfigured hand wrapped tight around Jean's neck before he even realised they were getting to their feet.  
  
"Hey!" the innkeeper called from somewhere behind Jean. "If you're gonna beat him up, do it outside!"  
  
They were only all too happy to oblige.  
  
It took only one of them, the one choking him, to drag Jean out to an alley behind the inn but the rest of them, and a few other unknighted warriors from around the inn, followed outside.  
  
The heavy stone wall of a nearby building met Jean's flying form with an incredible solidity, tearing through him a pain somehow blunt in its creation, yet extremely sharp in its sensation. The choker, it seemed, was not only good at dragging, but also throwing. Jean lay at the foot of the wall, fuming with anger, as they muttered whether they'd accidentally killed him.  
  
"It'll take a lot more than," Jean paused for breath, "a lot more than _that_ to kill me." His every limb shuddered, but he managed to get to his feet and assume a basic hand-to-hand combat stance.  
  
"Oh shut up, won't you," said one of the men, moving to punch Jean's face. With hasty and unsteady hands, the squire managed to block the blow, but now his forearm bore the force instead and Jean could feel the huge bruise that would bloom there soon. Still, he was determined to walk away on top, so he gave a smirk and began a punch of his own, aimed at his attacker's gut.  
  
The thug did not even bother to block, instead opting to simply smash his own palm into Jean's face. Thankfully it missed his nose, which would have shattered instantly, but it caught his right cheekbone instead and did some serious damage to the side of his head. On top of this, too, another ruffian had come around behind Jean and kicked his legs out from underneath him with such a force that Jean spun around before hitting the ground, landing harshly on his tailbone.  
  
He hissed through gritted teeth but otherwise refused to show any sign of his pain, and struggled slowly to his feet once more.  
  
"Stubborn," said one of the men. "I'll give him that."  
  
"Eh, we can fix that," said another, moving towards Jean.  
  
He attempted to steel himself for whatever blow the ruffian planned on throwing, but Jean was simply incapable of properly preparing himself for a massive kick to the stomach. The fact that he really didn't see it coming probably did not help. He was on the ground again, clutching his gut and incapable of keeping in the small moans of pain that escaped his lips. Someone, it may have been he man who kicked him, it may have been someone new - Jean couldn't tell anymore - attempted to knee him in the face. With a dexterity he really didn't feel, Jean managed to roll away from the attack, leaving his back exposed to them instead. Naturally this was where they kicked next.  
  
Jean attempted to stifle the keening cry of pain their kicks elicited from him, but just couldn't do it. He could feel bruises growing and ripening on his back, his ribs shuddering with every blow and dreaded the moment when some of them finally broke. Finally the pain was just too much to bear and Jean managed to claw himself into a semi-upright position using the wall he had been thrown against earlier.

"Yer really not staying down are ya?" asked one of them, his voice wavering in Jean's ears.  
  
"I don'… give up 's easily as... you lot…" Jean panted.  
  
Suddenly there was a huge hand near Jean's neck again and he felt for a horrible second that he was being choked again. But not this time, now someone had grabbed his collar and was now lifting him off the ground.  
  
"Just shut up will ya!" the grabber yelled and lobbed a punch to Jean's face. "Why-" punch "Can't-" punch "You-" punch "Understand!"  
  
With each blow Jean's face somehow stung further and became more numb. Blood began to pool on his lips and trickle down his chin. His nose probably had broken by now but the pain was too omnipresent for him to tell properly, although he knew for certain he'd have two black eyes in the morning. If he made it to the morning.  
  
"Got anything to stay now?" yelled the grabber. "Eh?" He shook Jean vigorously, making him feel as if all his bones were rattling around beneath his poor, bruised skin.  
  
Jean felt he had to do something, anything, to reassert his dominance in the fight, but his will was fading. He had barely any energy left, not enough to boast and certainly nowhere near enough to actually fight back. The hands at his collar suddenly disappeared and Jean crumpled to the dirty stones of the alleyway, grazes and stings running along his legs and his ankles aching with awkward angle they landed at. Jean folded in on himself, curled on the ground, and whimpered softly as soreness pulsed through his body. He could feel the bruises darkening, the quiet ooze of blood from his wounds, as he wondered whether he'd ever be able to move from this aching, uncomfortable position on the ground.  
  
"Has the truth gotten through your thick skull yet, or do we gotta bash it in a few times more?" one of them was saying, others laughing in agreement. "Ay?"  
  
Someone, whether it was the speaker or not Jean simply couldn't tell, grabbed Jean by the hair and pulled his face up. The world was swimming as his eyes watered and slow streams of blood trickled into them, and Jean could do nothing as the taunting continued.  
  
"If yer the world's greatest squire," his breath was almost as foul as his words. "Then how come it takes just a few minutes for a bunch a' forest vagabonds to knock the life right out a' ya?" He slammed Jean's head back down against the ground, filling the squire's world with bright lights and blood. The blow should have created more pain, but he was just too full of agony to even comprehend more. Whether that aching cry tore from his throat as well as through his brain was a complete mystery, really all Jean understood as he lay prone on those grimy cobblestones was that the world was slowly fading away. If only his last memories had been something better than cruel laughter, kicks to his sides and that disgusting stench of the outer districts.  
  
***  
  
Marco had tried to enjoy his time at the night markets with his friends, but always there were his nagging worries for Jean. The outer districts? Really? Surely even Jean couldn't be so rash as to walk into those dark pits of crime, and to boast in their inns? The boy was insane. While patrons of the night markets were usually expected to stay until dawn, watching each performance and visiting all of the seemingly endless stalls, Marco found that he just had to leave beforehand. Barely three hours of the new day had passed when he explained to his friends that he had urgent business in the city, and would have to leave them. Some of them were quite suspicious, but from their faces it seemed they expected only a benign secret, some pretty city boy awaiting Marco's embrace or something of the sort. Marco didn't mind their assumptions or smirks, he only wished that he had some easier way to get to the forest gate besides trekking across the city.  
  
By the time he made it to the outer districts the night was almost depleted, and he had no idea where Jean could be. The only option he had was to ask around, and it was with no small degree of mortification that he fell to this task. It was a good thing Jean had that unique haircut and wasn't shy about shouting his name, as most inns had been filled with squires that night, all boasting of their proudest moments. But Marco noticed the closer he got to the forest gate itself, fewer squires had been in the area. It was at dawn's peak, it's most brilliant moment, that he came across an inn by the name of the Dancing Mop and his search came to an end.  
  
Jean was where the innkeeper said he might be, lying unconscious on harsh stones covered in city filth and blood. Seeing his valiant, invincible friend so completely injured and weak made Marco's heart thud deep within his chest and fear rise high in his throat.  
  
"Jean, Jean no!"  
  
Marco rushed to his side and knelt by Jean's bashed head, desperate for some sign of life. Bruises and congealed blood littered his friend's usually handsome face and Marco was afraid of causing some further injury when he carefully lifted Jean's head onto his lap. But in the course of that movement, as gentle as Marco could make it, Jean let out a quiet breath, making Marco's heart leap for joy.  
  
"Jean," he said quietly, unable to keep the smile out of his voice. "Jean, can you hear me? It's Marco."  
  
Jean made another noise, slightly louder than his little exhalation and with more strain in it.  
  
"Hey, it's alright," said Marco, softly stroking Jean's hair. "It's all good. I'm here and you're safe."  
  
"Marco?" Jean's voice was dangerously weak, and Marco could tell it hurt him to talk.  
  
"Hush, you don't need to speak, just rest." Marco ran the side of his hand down the edge of Jean's face, careful to brush the wounds only very slightly.  
  
"No…. Marco, don'…."  
  
"Oh sorry!" said Marco, withdrawing his hand quickly. "Was I hurting you?"  
  
Jean simply breathed for a while, each breath sounding like a serious effort. "You don' need… just… just leave m-me be… You… can go…"  
  
"What?" asked Marco. "Jean, I'm not going anywhere; you're seriously hurt. You could die out here."  
  
"Doesn' matter…" said Jean, his voice a struggling whisper. "'M failure… failure anyway."  
  
"A failure, what? Jean you're the best squire we have, you're certainly not a failure." Concern suddenly flashed in Marco's eyes. "Oh no, I think you might've gotten hit too hard in the head! Quick, what colour is the sky?"  
  
Jean replied with only a pathetic little moan.  
  
For the first time Marco noticed the patches of blood elsewhere on Jean, the way his feet seemed to be at odd angles and the true extent of his helplessness.  
  
"Oh Jean," he murmured. "Oh, you're really hurt. You can't stay out here like this…" Marco glanced about, as if some white mage would suddenly appear and heal his friend instantly.  
  
Jean had stopped making noises and now was only breathing, and still with great difficulty.  
  
"Here," said Marco, moving his hands beneath Jean's head. "I'm going to lie you down again and I'll just duck inside the inn, see if I can get a room for you. You need to get warm again. I'll just be a moment, I promise."  
  
As softly as he could he replaced Jean's head on the dirty cobblestones, and then dashed through the backdoor of the inn. Marco had been afraid the innkeeper would deny Jean a room because of the obvious fight that had occurred last night - but such was the transient nature of the outer districts that past fights didn't matter when there was money on the table and promise of good behaviour. Marco could not, unfortunately, get a room on the ground floor, or find anyone willing to carry a bashed-up squire up the stairs and so returned to Jean with a grim smile.  
  
"Hey Jean," he said, kneeling by his friend again. "Do you think you could climb some stairs?"  
  
Getting Jean up to the room proved to be a long and arduous process, both because Jean's legs were very weak and because he didn't even seem to want to climb the stairs. Marco spent most of his time pulling, pushing and half-carrying, and all of his time coaxing Jean with sweet words. He must be in incredible pain, Marco thought as Jean rested for a moment against the wall, his breath hissing through gritted teeth. It was such a sad sight to see one so strong reduced to shuffling steps and peppered with bruises, muttering negative things and seemingly close to tears. Really, it made Marco's want to help less of a desire and more of a need.  
  
Eventually, with an incredible deal of effort, he managed to get Jean into the small room he'd hired, which really consisted of nothing more than a rough bed, chipped basin and dingy fireplace. After making sure Jean was lying safe on top of the bed, Marco quickly lit a fire and soaked a rag in water from the basin. Squires were required to carry basic healing kits wherever they went and to assist any injured civilians they found. Most squires ignored these rules as the healing kits could be quite bulky and time-consuming, but tireless, diligent Marco, so intent on serving humanity, never left the training barracks without his. This wasn't the first time it'd proven to be necessary, either.  
  
As carefully as he could, he washed the blood from Jean's face and was relieved to find that none of his wounds were still bleeding. Now came the rather awkward bit - the rest of Jean's body. There was dried blood staining practically every article of Jean's clothing and bruises peeking out of his collar - marks that warned of injuries Marco couldn't bare to leave unattended.  
  
"Jean, do you think you could sit up?" asked Marco. "Here, I'll help you."  
  
Slowly he lifted Jean's torso into a vaguely upright position, something which seemed to cause an even greater deal of pain.  
  
"It'll just be a second," said Marco. "I have to take your tunic off - you're covered in blood."  
  
Jean's regulation brown overtunic came off quite easily, much to Marco's relief, but his dirty green undershirt was just covered in too much dried blood - it was stuck fast to Jean's wounds. Although squires were required to take classes in field-healing, this was something Marco had never had to deal with in the flesh before and his lessons were fast flying out his head.  
  
"Jean," said Marco, not exactly sure how to phrase what came next. "Your shirt's stuck to you. I think I'll have to rip it off."  
  
Jean didn't reply.  
  
"And that's going to hurt… A lot."  
  
Jean's breathing became slightly more rigid and Marco was suddenly awash with sympathy.  
  
"Here, I think I can make it… Uh, less horrible."  
  
Marco quickly pulled a knife from his bag. It wasn't particularly sharp, made more for eating than anything else, and got to work on Jean's shirt. It was completely ruined anyway, so he was sure Jean wouldn't mind it being cut up. It seemed to Marco that every time he cut a piece off, all he found were more bruises and abrasions covering Jean's skin. What in the world had happened to him? But questions could come later, right now he was racing infection to Jean's wounds. The left sleeve was probably the only part that came off easily, the rest had to be cut off in small, awkward patches until all that was left were random scraps of fabric stuck to half-dried wounds.  
  
"Right," said Marco, "here's the painful bit. Hold tight, Jean, I'll try to get them off as fast as possible."  
  
Jean grabbed onto his knees as Marco yanked fabric from wounds that would certainly leave scars, blood starting to flow again and pain slashing through him just as bad as it had the night before. He'd tried to keep quiet as Marco worked but small hisses and moans of pain escaped through gritted teeth, making the both of them feel worse, although for different reasons.  
  
"Oh Jean," said Marco quietly. "There's so much blood."  
  
He didn't have enough rag to compress all the wounds at once and didn't have the time to completely bandage Jean's torso yet. There were other wounds elsewhere that needed cleaning and Jean was still struggling to remain upright. Marco sighed, realising he'd have to resort to something he'd hoped he could keep hidden.  
  
From his bag he withdrew a glass jar of middling size, sealed tight with a metal lid and full of an electric blue, sparkling substance.  
  
"Marco," said Jean, his eyes growing wide. "Is that… is that magic?"  
  
The heavy lid twisted off with little effort from Marco, and beneath it that bizarre, gelatinous substance waited.  
  
"You can keep a secret, right Jean?" asked Marco. "Besides, you've been so badly hurt I don't really have any other options."  
  
Marco dipped two fingers into the blue, where it stuck to them like honey and trailed out of the jar as Marco moved his hand's to Jean's back.  
  
"Wait," said Jean, and Marco's hand paused. "Don' waste it. Don't waste… that on me."  
  
"Don't be ridiculous, Jean," said Marco. "I'm not wasting it, I'm helping you."

He wasted no further time, spreading the potion all along Jean's bruises and cuts. It sank almost instantly into his skin, leaving behind only the occasional sparkle to show that it had gone on at all. The cuts stopped bleeding almost instantly, the abrasions grew less red and the bruises faded. From Jean's contented sigh, Marco could tell it was helping with the pain, too.  
  
For Jean, the sensation was beautiful. Every time Marco touched his skin pain evaporated, only to be replaced with a soothing warmth that comforted him to the very core. And Marco, oh Marco was wonderful. He hummed quietly as he moved, smiling sweetly at Jean and making sure to never press a wound too hard or miss one. It was his quiet sincerity and kindness that soothed Jean as much as that potion, and Jean found himself instantly forgiving Marco for owning a magical item.  
  
Marco allowed Jean to lie back for a few moments, smiling down at him and murmuring about how good he'd been to sit up for so long when it must've hurt so terribly.  
  
"Um," said Marco after a little while. "Jean, you've really hurt your legs and feet, too. I need you to, uh, take your pants off, too."  
  
Jean lay there for a bit, as if processing the information, and then muttered, "I can't."  
  
"Oh, you don't specifically have to, I can do it for you that's all fine I just wanted to tell you that I was going to take your pants off so I wasn't suddenly taking your clothes off with no warning which would be weird and such and… Uh, yes. Taking your pants off now."  
  
Wrestling with a blooming blush, Marco moved to unlace the front of Jean's heavy, standard training trousers. This whole situation probably would've been much easier to view in an unbiased context if Marco hadn't been aching to take Jean's pants off for a far longer time. Like, say several years. Surely he wasn't the only one - Jean was one of those people who instantly charmed their way into your heart, other squires must've fallen under his spell. But Marco had stayed quiet and now, with only a few months until knighthood, he must have missed any chance he might've had. He'd never been able to figure out which lucky squire had taken Jean for their own but whoever it was, they clearly hadn't cared enough about him to follow him into a dangerous neighbourhood on their day off, so now it was Marco who got to remove the pants at last.  
  
Not that a particularly nice sight awaited him. Jean's knees were scraped raw and there were quite a few indents where the rough stones had assailed his legs, not to mention the bruises and blood that he seemed to be thoroughly coated in. And then, once the large boots and thick, knitted socks were off too, there were Jean's poor ankles; so clearly twisted or dislocated or whatever that horrible angle was - they inspired instant pity in Marco.  
  
"Oh Jean."  
  
While Marco would have liked to stroke Jean's hair and whisper at how strong Jean must've been to get up the stairs, there was no time to waste. Cuts to clean, potion to rub on, blood to wash off (where was that all coming from, anyway?), ankles to reposition, and little aching moans of pain to fret over. The potion helped, as it had before, but Marco was growing worried. He'd never used this much on one person before, what if there was some horrific side-effect from overuse he was unaware of? And there was a look in Jean's eyes that hinted at some huge, internal injury and Marco couldn't help but feel potion would do nothing to brighten that deep pain.  
  
Jean lay quite still, knees up to help a seriously damaged lower back, for a good deal of time. Marco had no clue what to do with himself during this pause; he wanted to reach out and stroke Jean's hair, his wounds, hold his hand and brush their lips, whisper in Jean's ear little murmurs of praise and reassurance, but he just couldn't. Jean was seriously hurt, this was no time to be foisting obviously unrequited affections on him.  
  
"I'm so sorry," Marco said eventually. "So sorry you were hurt like this. I know that whatever happened last night, you could never do anything to warrant injuries this bad. Whoever hurt you… They're a truly hideous person."  
  
"But it was my fault." Jean's voice was much stronger now, and Marco would've rejoiced in this fact if not for Jean's actual words.  
  
"Don't be silly, Jean. I know you get in fights sometimes but you're not a bad person. No one deserves what you got - knights wouldn't do this to even the most wanted person in the Citadel."  
  
"I was a serious shit last night though."  
  
His tone made Marco's desire to physically comfort him all the more stronger, and there was even a tiny second where Marco's hand moved to Jean's, but it was replaced just as quickly.  
  
"There were all these… I dunno, unknighted freelancers and warriors and junk from the forests-"  
  
"Jean were you mugged?!" Marco felt his voice raising in panic.  
  
"Nah… I started a fight." Jean sighed. "It was my fault though. I was running around yelling about how great I was and how they were all pieces of shit-"  
  
"But plenty of squires do that - you get them everywhere. Besides, you're more subtle than that."  
  
"Maybe it would've been alright if I was actually a decent squire, but I'm not and they were right to beat the crap out of me."  
  
"Did they really attack you just because you were boasting?" Marco asked, aghast.  
  
"Nah they attacked me because I was a stupid fucking idiot who can't see past his own bloody haze of glory and can't accept the truth even when it's obvious and right fucking there in front of me-"  
  
"Jean," said Marco quickly, afraid of where Jean's rant was going. "You don't have to talk about it now if you don't want to. And you really aren't… all that stuff you said. You're an excellent squire… And a good person, too. Really."  
  
Jean was silent for a while, staring intently at the ceiling beams. "They - the ones who attacked me - they were squires once, they said. Really good ones, the ones who were going to make it to the top. And then they didn't make it. Cracked under the pressure or got thrown out and ended up as wildness thugs. They said the same thing would happen to me and I disagreed - disagreed a lot. So they beat me senseless."  
  
"First of all," said Marco, "That is a really stupid reason to beat someone up; clearly those thugs have anger problems and a poor grasp of rational thinking, meaning you shouldn't listen to them anyway. Secondly," here Marco simply couldn't help but grasp Jean's hand, "they're wrong. I don't care what happened to them or how they ended up where they are today, because that is not happening to you. You are a brilliant squire and you'll make an even better knight, I know it! And if something horrible happens and you can't… then at least you'll be a better person than those thugs. You're not the kind of person who… who… _mutilates_ an innocent squire because of a boast, and you're not the kind of person that gets thrown out of the knighthood. You're a wonderful person Jean, and you didn't deserve this."  
  
"But-"  
  
"Don't try to contest my point, Jean, I have proof. The people who end up cracking and as freelancers are the kind of squires who were _technically_ good - the ones who did well in training and class but were never made for real life. You're not like that. You're a leader and a fighter and a tactician and just an excellent person to be in the field with. Remember when we did our first field exercise and practically everyone got lost and confused and couldn't actually do anything but you were always, _always_ , on top of whatever had to be done. You understand your teammates and how they work best and you make great decisions under pressure. You're a _leader_ , and the knighthood need you. You're not just another training-yard trophy squire with a good swing and not much else. You're a knight Jean, and a far better one than most out on the streets today."  
  
Jean just stared at Marco for a while, and what with all the swellings and bruises that covered his face, it really was quite hard to read his expression. So much so that Marco began to worry he'd said something wrong and accidentally angered or, worse, further upset Jean somehow.  
  
"Sorry," Marco said. "But… I really do think you're one of the very best and I don't want your chances in life to be destroyed by a few thugs with anger problems."  
  
Jean was silent for a while more, this time with his blackened eyes closed, until,  
  
"Twelve."  
  
"Sorry, what was that?" asked Marco.  
  
"There were twelve of them last night," said Jean, reluctant. "I only really started the fight with like two of them I think… I don't really remember, but the guys who were sitting with them plus some other freelancers from around the inn also wanted to beat me up."  
  
" _Twelve_?" asked Marco. "No wonder you're so hurt, Jean! No one can hold their own against twelve angry warriors, especially not one unarmed squire!"  
  
"See," said Jean. "You rant about how great I am but I can't actually do anything when it comes down to the wire."  
  
"Don't twist my words Jean, I said you were a brilliant squire and a great person and a very professional knight, but you're not _superhuman_. Please Jean, I know I can't tell you how to feel and expect you to instantly turn off your negative emotions, but this isn’t something to be ashamed of. You were overpowered by people who overreacted and outnumbered you - this is a tragedy, not a failure."  
  
Exasperated, Jean waved his hand about for a bit, rather startling Marco when he realised that they were, in fact, still holding hands.  
  
"Dammit, Marco," Jean said, and then with the radiance of all the completely unexpected pleasures in life, burst into a great grin. "You're too nice and too smart. You should be using that kindness of yours on something better than a beat-up idiot complaining about nothing in a gross inn room in the worst part of town."  
  
"Don't be silly Jean," smiled Marco, as Jean's thumb rubbed his hand, "I can think of nothing more important."

***  
  
Jean healed incredibly fast, and while he thought that was mostly due to that potion Marco had for some reason, everyone else just chalked it up to him being, well, Jean. The best squire in the yard didn't have time to waste off the field, waiting around to get better, so he simply got better faster. He and Marco had joked about it once or twice, loitering around after dark where no one would overhear them and discovering just how good they were at being friends.  
  
"But really, if I hadn't known the truth, I'd have probably thought the same," said Marco at one point, about a week after the incident.  
  
"Seriously?"  
  
"Come one Jean," laughed Marco, "You're invincible here! Nothing keeps you down… And nothing should."  
  
Marco took his hand and Jean smirked, giving some great boast about how the knighthood would fall to pieces without him. It probably was kind of weird to hold Marco's hand sometimes, especially because Jean wasn't supposed to be into him like that, but really it felt wonderful. The words of those forest thugs returned to Jean sometimes in the dead of night, when he should be feeling confident about his future, but the warmth and infinite kindness of Marco's hand banished them in an instant.  
  
Jean wondered if he should do something to let Marco know how he felt, where he wanted those kind hands and how he longed to moan in something other than pain under his touch. Marco wondered the same thing.  
  
It took quite a few weeks of hushed night time talks and innocuous hand-holding for either of them to realise nothing was going to happen if no actual action was taken. It probably would have taken much longer again for someone to actually perform said action if they both hadn't come to the realisation at the same time, with the atmosphere suddenly growing slightly tense yet excited. Both Jean and Marco became extremely aware of each other's hands, the way they fit together so effortlessly and how their lives could probably do the very same thing with barely any change whatsoever.  
  
It started back in the inn with Jean running his thumb over Marco's hand, and that was how it started then. Marco was glad they were already standing close together - which probably was an indicator of just how close they had been to this moment - so he wouldn't have to shuffle awkwardly towards Jean in order to rest his head on Jean's shoulder.  
  
"Jean?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Are you feeling better?"  
  
Jean knew Marco didn't mean his injuries. "Yeah. Yeah, I really am."  
  
It seemed only a natural progression of events for Jean to lift their hands to his lips, to smile into Marco's skin and offer a kiss that seemed to be contained entirely within the eyes. Eyes locking and somehow a glint in Jean's despite the dark, a question and hope, followed, at last, by an invitation. The boys moved in unison, turning towards each other and Marco's free hand coming to hold Jean's face while Jean's went to rest his on Marco's back. With their held hands raised and holding each other closely, they almost looked as if they were about to dance, to waltz about the training yard for some ridiculous reason only they could understand.  
  
Despite eagerness from both sides, the kiss was a gentle, hesitant one that was really nothing more than a brushing of trembling lips, with shaky smiles sprouting suddenly into existence. Jean nudged Marco with his nose, eyes full of love and staring bright, bringing forth a font of laughter.  
  
"You know I don't think I ever thanked you properly for rescuing me back then, and waving your magic wand to bring me back to life," said Jean. "I'd like to correct that grievous oversight tonight."  
  
Marco leaned in, his mouth waiting an impossibly small distance from Jean's. "And how," when he spoke their lips seemed to move together, "do you plan on doing that?"  
  
"Oh," Jean chuckled, "aren’t you going to have fun finding out."

**Author's Note:**

> Hah wow I didn't mean for this to get so big lol
> 
> Yeah, so kink meme prompt that turned into this thing. Tbh I have no idea why I chose fantasy AU, SNK's pretty dang fantasy enough as is :P
> 
> Hope you all liked it!


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